My Lost Youth
by SillyKai
Summary: Unusual time-travel story. Harry is transported to the time of the Marauders, but at a different age and does not fully remember who he is and is therefore unsure who are enemies and who are friends. Formerly called Present to Past
1. Incidents

My Lost Youth

By MantisSage (Kailea)

Formerly called "Present to Past."

Warning: Major spoilers ahead! (For books 1-7)

Summary: This is not your usual time-travel story. Harry is transported to the time of the Marauders, but at a different age and he does not fully remember who he is and is therefore unsure who are enemies and who are friends.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything/anyone else that JK Rowling has created. Besides, you would not want to sue me because I own nothing except a blanket, a computer, and a busted clock. This disclaimer is applicable to all following chapters.

(Excerpt from "My Lost Youth" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

"There are things of which I may not speak;

There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

And bring a pallor into the cheek,

And a mist before the eye.

And the words of that fatal song

Come over me like a chill:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

Chapter 1: Incidents

The trio slowly walked through the deserted Hogwarts Hall towards the familiar Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady was absent, but thankfully the portrait door hung open. It seemed the battle had even reached here, for a window was shattered, armchairs were knocked over, a wooden chair lay splintered and broken next to a sadly tilting table. But this went largely unnoticed in the cold morning light filtering through the silent, still air.

Harry was already in the clean, fresh-feeling pajamas that he had found on his bed when Ron came up after hanging back with Hermione in the common room. Harry looked at Ron and saw a very old look upon his face, as the despair, pain, and exhaustion was brought back to mind. Harry didn't want to think of those empty bodies in the Great Hall: of Lupin and Tonks and Fred. He only wanted to sleep and just for a short time forget the pain.

"You know what," Ron said slowly after pulling off his filthy shirt, "only yesterday morning we had escaped Gringott's on a dragon's back. Only a day ago… it's weird." For a second Harry thought Ron was delusional, but then realized with shock that it really had only been yesterday, less than twenty-four hours ago. It was weird, for that adventure seemed so far away- but a great deal had happened in those few hours: certainly the longest day he would ever experience. Thinking back was like traveling through a dream and his mind barely had time to revel in the disbelief before he laid his head upon his pillow and was asleep.

The first thing that told him he was awake was his own deep breath. He felt like he was floating, surrounded by warmth and softness, and the only noise was a gentle silence- neither suffocating nor strained. No thoughts intruded his consciousness; there was only the realization that he was comfortable, content, and perfectly unwilling to move.

He slowly opened his eyes, only to discover large silver-grey orbs peering intensely at him. With a jolt he sat up- now completely awake- to sit face to face with Luna, who was smiling at him with her usual surprised look.

"Oh, good! You're finally awake." She said with a clap of her hands.

"Wha- what are doing here?" Harry asked, pulling the blanket closer around him, remembering he was only in his pajamas, bewildered by her presence. "Isn't this the boy's dormitory? Were you watching me sleep?"

"Oh, not all the time. You just happened to wake up on my shift." She said, standing up, "You know you've been asleep for a week."

"A week! What? Well what's happened-"

"Yes. They were going to take you to St. Mungo's if you didn't wake up soon. I'm really glad you won't have to go. You would be amazed at what the nurses do with their spare time and bed curtains." She said all of this in her usual, upbeat manner. At first Harry wondered if he had simply imagined the whole battle. Maybe he had imagined all of the past year. She acted like nothing had changed- like no one had died. But then again, this was Luna…

"I'll go and tell everyone you're all right," she continued, standing up from the wooden chair and heading towards the door. "You _are_ all right, aren't you?"

With his glasses back on, he saw Luna clearly now, and replied, "I think I am. Is everyone else all right?"

"Yes, we're all mostly fine. You will probably look better after a shower. I think Ron placed those clothes there for you."

"Where are Ron and Hermione?"

"Close by," she replied standing at the door, gazing out his window. The sun was higher than he had expected it to be: it was already afternoon. "I will go tell them you're awake. They'll be very happy to hear it, I'm sure." Although still groggy and confused, he was startled by her sudden departure. She paused and smiled at him, "I'm glad you're all right."

Harry wasn't sure what to make it, especially why Luna had been watching him sleep, but he shrugged it off. The idea of a warm shower was too inviting and he was certain that Ron and Hermione could offer answers.

After a relaxing hot shower and dressing in the casual black robes present, he caught a glimpse of Ron and Hermione lounging in their old bedroom before being nearly knocked off balance as Hermione jumped from her seat and hugged him tightly, pinning his arms to his sides. Harry could hardly see Ron smirking through Hermione's bushel of hair, as she spoke hurriedly into his shoulder, sounding close to tears, eventually relinquishing her grip. "I'm so glad you're all right! We've been worried sick about you! They weren't sure you were going to wake up… Thank goodness!"

Harry was happy to see them, and grateful upon seeing the tray of sandwiches on a bedside: he was famished. After a few odd remarks, the conversation quickly became a question-answer sequence.

"So ever since I fell asleep someone's been watching me?"

"We just thought it would be bad if some deranged You-Know-Who supporter came and snuffed you while you were sleeping. That would certainly be a let-down after everything." Ron said.

That did make sense, Harry thought as he filled his cheeks with a ham sandwich. "Still," he said after swallowing most of it, "it's creepy knowing someone was watching me sleep." He hoped he hadn't done anything embarrassing like snore.

"Still better than me, mate. I had a man sleeping in my bed for three years."

Harry had no comeback. Hermione put her hand to her brow in exasperation- it seemed the other two didn't notice the implications of what Ron just said. She tried not to think about it.

"So has anything else major happened? Any attacks?" Prompting Harry to get his old holly-feather wand from next to his mole pouch, that reminded him to check on his other wands- the hawthorne was still there, but… "The Elder Wand!" Harry yelled, spinning around to face them, "It's gone!"

"No, no," Hermione reassured him, pulling out the afore-mentioned wand from her pocket and handing it to Harry. "I was worried something might happen to it while you slept." Harry held all three wands in his right hand- his holly, Draco's hawthorn, and the elder- he found it to be a bit excessive.

"But we left the invisibility cloak with you," Ron said, pointing to a chest at the base of the bed. "I'm amazed no one took it in the battle."

Ron and Hermione told Harry about the clean up of the Ministry of Magic, the messy affair of dealing with the Hogwarts students who, once again, had no finals, the beginning of the death-eater trials, the status of the injured still at St. Mungos.

"And… you missed the funerals," Hermione said softly. Ron turned his head away. "It's been a week. We couldn't wait much longer." She whispered apologetically.

"Everyone?" Remus, Tonks, Fred… Ron wouldn't meet their eyes. "Ron… I'm so sorry…"

There was no response. Harry felt like there was nothing to say. They had died because of him. Did the Weasley family hate him for it?

"We haven't seen George for a few days." Hermione said in the silence. "And Teddy's grandma has been caring for him." That child was an orphan now. Like Harry. "I- er- we… were planning to visit the graves in a few days. You can come too."

Honestly, that was perhaps the last thing Harry wanted to do. To see the mounds of earth were his friends lay beneath- to think of the still, pale bodies lying alone in their dark tombs. And it was his fault they were dead. Like everyone else who had died, ever since his parents' deaths. Throughout his entire life people died for, or because of, him. Despite these thoughts, Harry nodded. The least he could do was visit their graves and pay his respects.

"I should be heading back home, let everyone know you're awake, "Ron muttered. "My mum's been worrying about you on top of everything else." He stood up, prompting the other two to do the same. Hermione tried, in vain, to make him stay for a while longer, look at the repair work or visit the lake or… but she ended her appeal with a wild hand gesture and few compelling suggestions. It was apparent to Harry that she wanted to keep his mind off of Fred's death. Harry didn't know what it was like to lose a brother, but he knew it would take more than a week to let the memory of Fred rest.

On the way to the Great Hall Harry was astonished at how many people were still at Hogwarts. He could only guess at why they were all there. He even saw a few students with their parents: collecting their trunks, perhaps? Harry wouldn't have minded everyone if they did not stare at him even more intensely than before. He always hated the attention he got as the-boy-who-lived or The Chosen One. He feared what new titles may have been added to his name. At the moment he didn't want to be known as anything but Harry Potter.

Engrossed in a conversation, the trio didn't notice when they turned a corner on the third story and found themselves face to face with Draco Malfoy.

Harry and Ron quickly pulled out their wands, while Hermione protested weakly that Malfoy was on their side now- kind of.

"Oi! I don't even have a wand!" Draco exclaimed.

"Right," Harry said, having forgotten that little fact, "I still have yours. Here," he called out, throwing the hawthorn wand to him. Harry had never liked it, and certainly didn't need it now. Draco caught it single-handedly, not taking his eyes off Harry. Apparently he still had a seeker's skills.

"So is this the fabled wand everyone's talking about?"

"If it was, do you think I would give to you?"

Harry still held his holly-and-phoenix wand as Draco did the same, both eyeing each other warily. It felt so natural that both expected the other to shout out a curse, regardless of the lack of any tangible reason.

"Boys!" McGonagall shouted, making both of them stop mid-curse and look guiltily up at their former professor who was approaching them with an all-too-familiar face of fury.

"When has fighting ever been allowed in the halls! I expected better from both of you- as soon as danger's gone you return to your immature-" she stopped, wagging finger still raised. The absurdness of the situation was dawning on all of them. They were all suddenly acting as if it had all never happened. As if there had never been an epic battle where they stood, all that fighting. It was like it had all been a horrible dream. Harry stifled a laugh.

"Well," McGonagall started again with a small cough, "the rules haven't changed and fighting is still not permitted in the halls. I would have thought you had had enough fighting." She finished. Even Draco had felt the deadly consequences of fighting in the battle.

But that didn't stop them from acting as enemies. In fact, Harry was grateful to Draco and McGonagall. Unlike everyone else, they did not treat him any differently from before. It made Harry's world feel more stable- as if no matter what bizarre thing happened, he could always rely on Draco's animosity.

As McGonagall left, Draco slid forward and whispered under his breath, "Lucky for you it was McGonagall. If it had been Snape I wouldn't have left you standing."

"Snape!" Hermione cried, clapping her hands to her mouth. Draco turned questioningly before continuing on his way. Harry also turned and was startled to see them looking so stricken. Ron suddenly looked ill.

"What… what about Snape?"

"We forgot him!" Hermione whispered. Harry still didn't understand. Snape was dead. What was left to forget?

Upon seeing Harry's confused expression, Ron added in a low voice, "He's still in the Shrieking Shack."

It took a long second for Harry to digest that. "What?" he shouted. "But- it's been a week!"

"We never told anyone." Hermione whispered more to herself than the boys. "No one else knew he was there. No one would have even bothered to check there."

"Well, we were a bit preoccupied with everyone else." Ron added in a dead voice. Between the mourning, funerals, St. Mungo visits, and sleeping, they had completely forgotten about their old Potions professor whose body was still in the Shrieking Shack, surely drained of all blood. Ron made a grimace at the mental image. At least it had not been too hot these past few days.

"I'll go get him." Harry said.

"Harry, this isn't something that you should do alone." Hermione said.

"She's right. It's not something you should be doing at all. We'll tell someone and then go to the Burrow. Everyone's waiting to see you."

Despite a desire to see Ginny and the rest of the Weasley family, Harry wasn't eager to go to a house of mourning, wasn't ready to confront them. So he said he would stay at Hogwarts and meet them at the Burrow later. He could tell McGonagall about Snape's body and could go look for others, maybe try and find Neville or Luna. He watched them walk into the Great Hall from his position on a staircase, ignoring loud whispers from a family passing by.

Sure it was a lie, but he reasoned he would make it a truth after he took care of Snape's body. That was his main reason for staying behind. He slipped on the Invisibility Cloak and headed to the main doors leading outside. If he listened to reason he would have just told someone, but instinct or obligation prompted him to go alone. After seeing Snape's memories in the Pensieve he felt a strange intimacy with the man, perhaps knew him more intimately than any other person. With Snape, it was possible.

Within an hour, crawling through the familiar earthen tunnel, he arrived at the entrance of the Shrieking Shack with his Cloak back in his pocket. He hesitated, breathing through his mouth. The foul stench was diffusing through the top of the robe that he held over his nose and mouth. Severus Snape's body was just there- it was revolting. He would have used a bubblehead charm if it had not been so disrespectful. How many times had Harry witnessed death? He felt he understood it enough not to be surprised, but this time was different from the rest. The very air felt different with the sour touch of the corpse's presence. All noise seemed muffled and it felt like another dimension from outside. It took a stretch of the imagination to think that outside this shack there was a sweet breeze off the lake blowing on green grass and fresh summertime flowers under a cool blue sky. Outside there was color and life. Inside Harry only knew death and darkness.

Harry had never before noticed the smell of death- of the rotting corpse and spilled blood. The body was disgusting to look at. The formerly crimson blood had dried black on the stained floorboards and the bits of skin visible under the black shoes, cloak, and hair, were even more disagreeable to all the senses. The putrid smell aside, it was nauseating to look at- the shriveled skin was dark and mottled, and the face was… Harry avoided looking.

It was surreal seeing this man, dead, before him. Harry looked around at the room, avoiding seeing the body, as he reflected and waited for the nauseous feeling in his gut to subside. He had met him only as a Potions professor. How could he ever have known how their relationship would develop and change? How could he ever have known this would be his fate? Or know that he would be doing something so absurdly intimate with him as moving his dead body. It was even stranger in the lonely silence. The room was always dark, but the shadows somehow seemed darker than usual, as if filled with something sinister. Were these deep shadows Death's fingerprints? He could almost envision Death, wearing Peverell's invisibility cloak, slip noiselessly into the room, and find Snape standing there, scowling like usual (he couldn't imagine Snape allowing himself to be touched by Death, or anyone for that matter). Maybe when Death left, the shadows didn't lighten, the fresh air didn't return, and sounds forgot to be heard.

Harry had been absently looking at a gnawed corner of the table- the smell was just as foul, but it didn't sting quite so much as when he first entered. He looked back at the body and found the eyes staring blankly at him. It sent shivers throughout his body, seeing those clouded black eyes peering into nothing. Harry had been the last thing he saw- Lily's emerald eyes. Had he given him that one small peace before dying- to look into the eyes of the only person he had ever loved, even if it was looking at the face of someone he could never come to love? Harry suddenly wished he had known a little more about the man. True- he had seen into his past and was perhaps closer than anyone else could have known him. But a new thought struck him painfully- had the man ever smiled? Harry wished he knew. Had Severus Snape ever experienced joy or peace? Harry wanted to believe that his life was better than his death- had been more than hate and loneliness. He wished he could have somehow changed it, to know for a fact that Snape felt happiness, even if just for a moment. He couldn't even imagine Snape with a smile upon his stony face.

Harry stepped closer to the body. He would take it up to the castle. It could be given a decent burial. One blackened hand lay curled up on the blood-soaked floor. Hesitating, Harry grabbed the wrist and pulled it carefully to the other hand on his chest. It was stiff in rigor mortis.

Pulling out his wand, he made the body hover, like Sirius had done years ago. With a silent spell he made the body follow him as if tied to the wand tip. Harry once again made his way through the tunnel and the hole in the trunk of the Whomping Willow with the body floating behind him all the while. He couldn't help but recall the first time he had made the trip, and wonder how they had all managed it, hurt, tied together, and dragging Snape… it was almost confusing to compare.

A rustling sound from the Forbidden Forest distracted Harry from heading straight to the castle. Even stranger- the noise continued. Curious, Harry paused, peering into the dark woods. Sure enough, something was moving in the darkness behind the still trees. Carefully Harry lowered the body to the ground and took a few steps closer. What was it?

As he walked towards the noise he realized it was actually multiple noises- flutter, scratch, scrape, trot. It was deeper into the forest than he had thought; already the space between trees was thinning, as was the filtered light. Harry quickened almost to a run when he saw various strange animals of the forest gathered around together, fighting. Even after years of lessons about magical creatures, Harry wouldn't even try to identify all of them, but he was certain that there no simple muggle creatures like sparrows or wolves in the mix. There were thestrals and kappas, things resembling shuddering brown branches, small thorn-covered many-legged insects, bony felines, a few of Hagrid's spiders, amongst others. Harry even thought he saw a unicorn or two in the distance, watching as he did. They were fighting over something on the ground- a large crab-like creature broke from the rest of the mob, clutching a small thing that could have fit into Harry's palm, waving around large claws behind as it scurried from the pursuing creatures.

Harry needed to know what strange object was attracting so many magical beings- he had a suspicion but tried to push it from his mind. With a quick wave of his wand he stupefied the silver crab-thing and the other creatures scurried at Harry's presence, perhaps still wary of any human after all that took place in the forest just a week before. Had they not noticed him approach? In the darkness of the forest, amidst the close together trees, Harry needed to use his wand to see what it was that had caused such a commotion.

Kneeling down, his suspicions were confirmed. The stone Hallow lay before him, still strapped to the Marvolo ring. Those animals must have carried it here. Had its magic attracted those animals? Maybe they are more sensitive than humans and could feel its magic. Had they been fighting over it this whole week? It probably had not been used in centuries.

These thoughts passed through his mind as he looked at the polished stone, shining in his wand's light. He had promised Dumbledore, and himself, that he would not try to find it or use it again. But here it was, he hadn't tried to find it. Maybe he was supposed to take it. It didn't mean he would use, he told himself.

As he reached for the legendary object once again, he forgot about its brothers: the wand still in the pouch around his neck and his invisibility cloak in his pocket. The words "master of death"- whatever its meaning- did not echo through his head as he reached out to unite the three Hallows. He was so calm. The universe could have mocked him for his ignorance.

His fingers touched the stone. He did not even feel his head hit the forest floor.

* * *

Author's Note: I have had a few questions asked in comments and I generally assume them to be rhetorical. However, if you have a question that you would like me to answer, write A/R (for Author Response) before or after the question and I'll be sure to reply to it.

Any reviews, questions, comments, flames, etc are greatly appreciated.


	2. Strangers

Chapter 2: Strangers

"Hey, wake up… Come on, it's late as it is. I swear you do this just to cause problems… Harry Parker, WAKE UP!"

A little eleven-year old boy yelped and jumped with a start and tumbled off of his bed, tied up in a thin avocado-green blanket, and fell with a dull 'thump' onto the floorboards.

"Geez, you're impossible," remarked the slim, older brunette girl, who lightly nudged the shifting lump with her toe, as a boy's head appeared amongst the folds. After unfurling the blanket, he put one hand to his face while the other hand groped around the tabletop for his glasses and put them on.

He looked up through his thin-rimmed and tape-covered glasses, his bright emerald-green eyes frantically searching the room, until he remembered where he was: St. Mary's Orphanage. His heartbeat slowed- it had been a dream. The images and people he had seen only a moment before in his mind's eye disappeared. It was only a dream.

Right, he thought, I'm only little Harry Parker, not some powerful wizard. I don't have a wand or cloak of invisibility; I can't befriend giants or battle evil wizards. Heck, I don't even have friends, much less parents. Every morning he had to face this harsh reality, only more painful when contrasted with his dreams. Even if he didn't remember them, he knew that he was at least happy there and was loved.

Unhooking the blanket from his ankle, he threw it onto the bed. He ran a hand through his coal-black hair- it was obvious he had just gotten out of bed by the way it stuck up in the back. But no amount of brushing ever seemed to make it lay flat and neat against his head. He subconsciously felt his forehead, always expecting to find something but feeling nothing.

A bunch of boys were strolling into the room past Sarah. "Hey Harry," one little boy called out with glee, "you missed breakfast again!"

"What!" Harry cried. "Why did no one wake me?" He was mumbling bitterly as he began grabbing some clothes out of one of the closets on the opposite wall of the long row of beds for the boy orphans residing there.

Harry was rummaging through what clothes he had, all of which were hand-me-downs and donations. He grabbled a dull green shirt that hung off his shoulders, and a too-large pair of brown pants that needed a belt to hold onto him. Everyone believed he was probably nine or ten considering his small size- it didn't help that even Harry did not know his own age. He was about to completely strip, his to-be-worn clothes heaped on the bed, until he remembered that a girl was present, and was about to say something when she moved and stood, tall and imposing, at the front of the room.

"Listen up!" she shouted, "Everyone needs to be by the front gate in twenty minutes. If you are not there I am going to hunt you down! Got it!" and she walked out of the boys' room.

-Exactly twenty minutes later-

Two separate rows stood just before the arched gateway, ten pairs of girls in one row, and twelve pairs of boys in the other. Some girls held large picnic baskets between them, others carried blankets to sit upon. The boys were already playing with the balls and flying discs, and swinging large hoops around their necks as they stood in their jumbled up line. On the ground were heavy baskets of fruit and vegetables for the younger boys, and hefty casks of water and punch that were to be borne by the older boys.

Two Sisters and one Brother, as well as the young assistant, Sarah Johns, stood at the head of the children, organizing the boys into some order, and quieting the girls who complained or chatted.

Harry leaned over to one of the other young boys as they finally began walking. "So, where exactly are we going?"

"Oh, that's right," said the boy, " This is your first trip to the park. Well..." he said, with an omnipotent air, "every month the whole orphanage goes to Geisler Park for the day. The park is this huge grassy area with a bunch of trees and a dinky little stream. You'll see when we get there. It's great because we get to play games and have a picnic lunch. But we're supposed to be on our absolute best behavior, otherwise we get in big trouble."

As everyone else marched and talked, Harry thought about what the park would look like, if it was similar to the other park, the only other place besides the orphanage that he had ever seen. The park where he woke up, not knowing who he was, or where he was from. It was the very first memory he had: waking up on that cold morning of the thirty-first of July. That was the day he was brought to the orphanage.

"Hey, did you have any more of those weird dreams?" a boy suddenly asked Harry, knocking him out of his daydream.

"Keep it down." another, slightly older, boy responded, "He'll get in trouble if _they_ hear that he's still having those dreams."

Other boys in line that were near Harry were looking at him, curious to hear what his crazy imagination had conjured: his stories about wizardry and witchcraft. At least it was something to listen to while they walked to the park. Even those that didn't care for the stories cocked an ear and shot glances at the little black-haired boy, purely out of boredom.

"I dreamt about that place again," Harry said, "the stone castle. Last night remember walking, or maybe running- I was chasing someone- to this enormous tree outside the castle. But this tree was dangerous, because whenever someone got too close it would lash out and hit them like a whip or crush them with the trunk. Somehow I sneaked into this entrance at the root of the tree. There was a long, dark tunnel from the base of the tree, and it was even darker because it was already past dusk-"

"Where did the tunnel lead to?" a small boy interrupted loudly.

Others shushed him, and there was a few seconds of waiting to see if anyone had noticed. Harry continued.

"It led to a secret house with no exits. I think a ghost lived there. It was scary and dark. I was looking for someone… It was strange, because a lot of animals kept appearing in my dream. I even think some of them could transform into humans, just like that." He said with a snap of his fingers. He was becoming a better story-teller after so many tales. "There was a huge black dog the size of a bear with long sharp teeth, and this ugly cat that was close friends with the dog, and this rat-"

"Did you use the stick again? The wand? Was there magic?"

"Uh-huh. Always. I attacked someone- a teacher maybe- and I think… I think I tried to kill someone." This caused a slight reaction amongst the kids. "I thought he was a murderer. I thought he had killed someone very close to me." Harry said very fast- he had a bad enough reputation without others believing him to have homicidal thoughts. Harry was already known amongst the children for his imagination. Many times he would wake up in the middle of the night shouting or talking, in confusion and panic. In the mornings he woke up as if his dreams were real, his dreams full of faces, places, and things that would always escape him like the stars escaping the dawn. At least the other children did not question his sanity as the adults did.

Talk of dreams and theories kept the boys occupied until they reached the slightly rolling slopes of the grassy park. A thin stream lay languidly in a shallow valley that was covered sparsely in trees and shrubs. It was a huge place: Harry could not see where it ended, but that might have been because of the low hills in front of him that blocked his view.

The blankets were set out and the children were let loose while lunch was set up. Harry ran off with the other boys in a frenzied rush before they could be grabbed and forced to help the Sisters prepare lunch. The older boys got the better toys, but Harry joined a game of football with other young boys and a slightly flat black-and-white ball, next to a small group of the big, older boys who were throwing a Frisbee around.

After a while a loud chorus of groans and curses arose from the older boys, and some stopped running in the football game to look over. They were all standing, so no one had been hurt, but they were looking towards a bunch of trees on the top of a hill.

Just then another of the orphans, a small dirty-blonde girl, came running over to collect everyone for lunch, going from one group to the next, yelling as loud as she could, which was hardly impressive. Everywhere there began a steady migration towards the blankets, and as the younger boys raced each other to lunch, a big boy grabbed Harry's arm.

"Hey, run over there and get our flying disc for us." the boy said, cocking his head in the direction of the trees. Harry tried to squirm out of the grip and looked up into the face of the boy.

"I don't want to get it. You're the ones who threw it. Now let go of me!" he said with a violent jerk of his arm. He was hungry as it was, and he didn't want to go waste his time looking for something he didn't lose. But the boy persisted.

"Just go get the bloody disc. Otherwise they'll be furious that you lost it." The older boy ordered Harry, and smirked.

"But I'm not the one who threw it." Harry protested, "W-wait a second, you can't just blame this on me! That's not-"

"Just go!" and the boy shoved Harry hard in the chest so he stumbled backward. He looked up at the heavy-set boy, sighed, and knew he would be stupid to fight with him.

He had no choice but turn around and look for the disc that had probably been devoured by one of the trees, and so began half-heartedly jogging into the sparse woods. He looked back after a second and saw all the boys walking back to where the blankets were set up and a crowd of children had gathered. Harry slowed and thought miserably that there was a good chance he would not get a bite of lunch, because if he ran back with everyone else he were certainly be yelled at for having lost the weathered piece of plastic that had flown away.

In a minute he was over a hill and out of sight of the grassy green and the other orphans, and was looking left and right, from the bottom of his feet to the tops of the trees.

He heard a noise: jumbled words and then casual content laughter. He saw a small group of boys having their own picnic. One was sitting on a blanket in the shadow of a tall tree, eating something and watching the three other boys standing in the sun. They were running around, playing, and then Harry saw what they were throwing, and realized that they were playing with his flying disc!

Harry began to sprint towards them, determined to get it back. He headed for the one holding the disc, the only light-haired one who was standing, and yelled out, "Hey! That's mine! Give it back!!"

All four boys turned and watched the little boy run towards them, but he was not intimidating, which Harry realized with a drop of his stomach when he saw that they were much bigger, and older.

The sandy-haired boy had already thrown the disc to his friend when Harry yelled at them, and looked at the smaller boy surprised, and even a bit apologetic. Harry had skidded to a halt before him, pivoted and ran to his left, towards the boy who now held the disc.

This boy had longish black hair, and had an amused look on his face as Harry approached and stood before him. "That's mine. Can I please have that back." Harry asked, a little calmer and kinder than he had a few moments ago, knowing that he could not get it by force or anger.

The tall boy looked down his nose at him, smiling, "Is this what you want?" he said in a teasing voice, "Are you sure it's even yours? Maybe you're confused."

Harry frowned, and automatically knew he was dealing with a jerk. He suddenly lunged for the disc, but the older boy lifted it high in the air and threw it to the other boy with a laugh.

Now Harry spun around and ran to the tall boy with messy black hair and glasses, who caught the disc easily and looked down at Harry in the same amused, teasing way as his friend. Harry ran to this third boy, feeling like the luckless victim in a game of keep-away. He heard the first boy tell his friends, in a none-too-compelling voice, "Stop tormenting him. Just give it back."

The messy-haired boy replied with a laugh, "Aw, let us have some fun." and the other black-haired boy stood and watched them with a sly smirk.

But then Harry slowed down in front of the boy, and stood there, staring up at him, unable to move, not even blinking.

"I-I know you… I know I do. You, you're… I recognize you." Harry slowly said, his eyes transfixed on the face. He was searching his mind, trying desperately to remember this boy: the messy hair, the hazel eyes, the tall lanky form, even the attitude was familiar, but Harry couldn't remember, and frowned.

The older boy saw this little kid staring up at him, and he felt a shiver up his spine. This kid was acting weird. His two friends were coming closer, and the one on the ground, a brown-haired mousy kind of boy, stood up. The sandy-haired one looked concerned, the other one looked a bit perplexed, but he still had a laugh hidden in his smile and asked, "Hey Prongs, what did you do to him?"

'Prongs' Harry thought, why was that familiar. Harry's eyes slid in and out of focus, blurring the boy's face, but then Harry remembered something. Or rather, he just knew it, no memories showing him why or where this knowledge came from.

"Potter… that's your name, isn't it? James… Potter." Harry said, uncertain of why he believed it to be so, but certain it was true. The four boys didn't quite know how to respond to that. The small mousy-haired boy look confused, standing with his head tilted a little; the others widened their eyes, looked to each other, then to James, who just stood and stared at the strange little boy. There was no recognition on his face.

James looked up at the other and raised an eyebrow, then looked back down, "Do I know you?" he asked, trying to decide if it was a joke or not.

"Er, I don't think so." Harry said truthfully, still trying to figure out how he himself knew it.

The other teenager who had teased Harry before now came to stand next to James, both looking thoroughly perplexed. After glancing sideways at James, he put his hands to his hips and bent at the waist, putting his face closer to Harry's and said, "Why don't you go run along now and leave us alone?" Harry didn't respond, but was staring hard at the face in front of him, screwing up his face a little.

"Sirius!" he yelped, jumping backward in surprise, his heart jumping uncomfortably against his chest. Sirius didn't move, just stared with a blank face, his mouth slightly agape, looking at this kid in disbelief, and racking his brain for any memories with this strange boy. But Harry was taking in this familiar face, the long raven-black hair, the dark eyes, the playful smile he had worn a moment ago, and noticed that he was quite handsome, and it surprised him.

"That's your name, right? Sirius…Sirius Black." Harry said quietly, still peering into the face, "You're really pretty…" Harry added as an afterthought, figuring that was what was so different about this person than what he had expected.

Sirius had jerked up and let his arms fall to his side when he heard another boy call him pretty. All the boys gave each other questioning looks, with wide eyes and raised brows. Now Sirius really wasn't sure what to make of the kid, but knew that he was definitely weird. Harry was still looking at him with a somewhat confused expression, but was now having to crane his neck to look at the tall boy, who stood higher than his friends.

Harry took his eyes off the two teenagers in front of him and looked around when he heard footsteps in the grass. It was the first boy he had run at for the Frisbee, and now Harry could see that this boy didn't have sandy hair, but had light brown hair that just looked much lighter in the bright sunlight. He was approaching Harry, frowning ever so slightly, looking at him curiously with his olive green eyes. He looked really familiar too, Harry thought, and his mind raced to discover who this other boy was.

"Lupin!" Harry shouted happily, having recognized this boy much quicker than the others. Again Harry saw his face become shocked, and then settled into a confusion, and what looked to be a small personal struggle. "You're… you're Remus Lupin." Harry came very close to calling him a Professor for some reason, but was able to restrain himself, seeing as he was far too young to be out of school.

The teenagers did not know what to make of all this, instead they simply stood there and looked at each other, because none of them could ever remember seeing this boy before.

Harry then looked to the last of the four boys, the one who had been eating while they had been playing. There wasn't the same good feeling as when Harry looked at the others, in fact Harry felt a horrible sense of dread and something twisted painfully around his heart, but still, he looked familiar. No name was coming for this boy, who was looking rather nervous now that he was the one being stared at. He was slightly shorter than the others and looked softer and rounder everywhere. Harry kept thinking about a rat- not certain why- but tried to think of a name as he looked at the short brownish hair, small squinty eyes, and a nervous twitch occasionally. At last, Harry knew who he was.

"You're Wormtail," he said, not remembering anything else. Harry turned his head sharply when the tall boy, Sirius, snickered loudly.

"Poor Wormtail, I guess that's your name now." His light laugh helped to relieve the tension, and the boy next to him, who had had his hand beneath his chin in reflection, jerked awake. One could almost see the glow of a light bulb that had turned on behind his wide hazel eyes.

"I know," he said to his friends, looking right over Harry's head, "I bet he heard about us from someone at school. That's how he knows our names." That made a lot of sense to the three, but Harry didn't know what school they were talking about. Now the boy looked directly at Harry, and asked "So, did you hear about us from a brother or sister?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Harry said innocently, "What school?"

"Then allow me to be blunt," James said, "How do you know us?"

Harry wished he hadn't asked that, because he didn't know himself, and that's a horrible answer. He was about to open his mouth to say so, but then the small brown-haired boy spoke up timidly.

"Maybe he knows one of our professors." and then looked to the others for approval if it was a good hypothesis.

"Hey maybe! But that would mean they were talking about us to their own families or whatnot," said Sirius, "that's not too reassuring."

"I can't really picture any of the professors at Hogwarts to have a family," said James, smiling slightly to hint that it was a joke.

" 'Hogwarts?'" Harry repeated. It sounded familiar. "What's Hogwarts?"

This really worried the Marauders. They didn't know if he was a muggle or a wizard. Remus put his finger to his lip to silently warn the others to not say anything more about wizards. But they didn't need the reminder.

"Right, who the hell are you?" James asked seriously without even a sliver of a smile on his face.

Harry was taken aback at the question, and had to think a moment before answering. "My name is Harry… er, Harry Parker." One of them was about to say something but was interrupted by another voice: a girl's shout.

"Harry Parker!!" she yelled as she quickly approached the one little boy surrounded by the four bemused teenagers. Everyone turned to look at her, and Harry sighed, knowing he was in trouble when Sarah had to come find him. She grabbed his arm tightly and bent down to mutter loudly to him, "What do you think you're doing?" she said, not even looking at the four boys who were now staring at her.

She immediately began pulling Harry away so fast that he was jogging slightly to keep up with her as they headed back to where the rest of the children were. She looked down at him angrily, "For goodness sake, boy, why were off talking with a bunch of strangers. Sister B was looking all over for you, gettin' sick with worry. Why did you go wander away from everyone?" But she didn't let Harry answer or say anything as the hurried to the vast spread of blankets with children sprawled all over the ground. Many, content and relatively full, looked up to see Sarah return, dragging Harry viciously by the arm. But most ignored him, too sleepy to care about much else.

After a fierce consternation by Sister B, Harry was allowed to pick from what remained of the lunch. A slice of white cheese, the ends of a bread loaf, half a tomato and a bruised apple from their orchard- it wasn't the best but it was fine. Harry didn't pay much attention to the taste or the conversations of the children around him; he was too occupied with the thought of those four boys. He thought he knew where he had seen them before. He had seen them in his dreams. His heart sank when he considered that they might not have been there at all. That felt so real, but it wasn't possible. People don't just come out of dreams and meet you in the middle of the day. But Sarah must have seen him- she said he had been talking with strangers. So maybe those four boys were real and alive, and Harry just thought they were from his dreams. That seemed the likeliest possibility. He must have looked ridiculous when he started calling them a bunch of names. He had acted like a fool.

But it didn't really matter all that much, Harry thought miserably, he would never see them again.

* * *

In chapter 3:

A marauder writes a letter to Dumbledore, and Harry is visited by someone from his memories.

Thank you so much for reading this!


	3. Waif and Wizard

**ATTENTION: this chapter was formerly chap 2. The new chapter is actually chapter 1- it has been completely redone.  
**

Chapter 2: Waif and Wizards

All four boys were left standing in the bright sunlight between the trees, looking at the low slope of the hill were the strange boy had come and gone.

"Who the hell do you think that little boy was?" asked Sirius, scratching his head after the boy and girl had disappeared from sight.

"Who cares? He was just some weird kid," replied James in a casual voice. He was perfectly willing to forget the whole incident.

"Weird is one thing, that was disturbing… It doesn't bother any of you that he knew who we are?" Remus asked in an exasperated voice.

"You shouldn't let it bother you. I'm sure it was nothing." Sirius said, bending over, reaching into a small wicker basket and pulling out a sandwich. He took a big bite and sat down on the dark red blanket spread out beneath a green-topped tree.

"You guys!" Remus yelled, attracting the others' attention as he wandered over to where something lay in the grass. He picked up the Frisbee. "You never gave it back to him!" he said, turning around to face the three Marauders who were now all sitting down, calmly eating their lunch.

"Oh… whoops." James said, now sprawled on his back, one arm beneath his head, and took another loud bite of his apple. "Well, too late now. Finders, keepers."

Remus looked down at the disc in his hands. "Someone should return it."

"Yeah, someone probably should. How nice of you to offer," Sirius remarked, and grinned at Remus, who sighed and smiled. Of course he would be the one to do it.

Remus climbed the low hill into the shade of a few scraggly trees, and glanced over his shoulder and saw that the Marauders were already out of his view. Ahead of him was a large group of schoolchildren lying all over the grass. He couldn't spot the boy from before- Parker, wasn't it?

One frowning man watched over a group of boys who seemed to be threatening each other with food. Remus approached him and saw a smile instantly pop up on his face- a face that seemed reserved for anyone but the children. With a few words Remus handed over the toy and asked a few questions about a certain little boy named Harry Parker. He learned that this wasn't a school- that boy was an orphan.

-A few hours later-

Sirius yawned loudly as darkness began to overcome them, the sky turning dark purple to one side, a bright yellow-orange on the other. They gathered up their things: according to Remus' watch parents would be coming in a few minutes. "Brilliant idea, Prongs." Sirius said, "Today was just what I needed. A couple more days with my family and I might've burst."

"Definitely, thanks for the invite." said Remus, "this was really nice. Any other plans for the summer?"

"Hell yes!" Sirius said with a flourish.

"There's going to be a full moon in a few weeks, why don't we meet up somewhere." said James. "We can go somewhere else besides the ol' Shrieking Shack. What say you, Moony?"

Remus was kneeling down with the big blanket half-folded in his hands, and seemed to be considering the proposition. "At home my family lets me go by floo powder to the woods in North York Moors where there is a special werewolf reserve. Well, actually," he said with a dismal look, "there's a clan, if you will, of werewolves there, the one that the adults wanted to send me to when I was first bitten. Anyway, the Ministry put up a barrier around the area so it's safe for other werewolves to transform there."

"Then we should all meet up at your house a few hours before nightfall so we could all go together." Peter said.

"No, then I would have to give some explanation to my folks. We could just meet there, by fire #2. There are a few numbered fireplaces around the perimeter for others like me who just go there to transform. Just say so when you put the floo powder in your fireplace."

"All right. That's sounds good," said James. By now they were each carrying their own belongings, ready to depart, James carrying the now-empty basket. "All of you have a ride right? Still going with me, Padfoot?"

"Yeah. You said I could go through your fireplace."

"Is it all right if I also go with you?" asked Remus, as they all started walking to a narrow street that bordered the park. "My mum gave me some money to take the Knight Bus, but it doesn't start running for another hour."

James was about to respond when he was interrupted by Peter, "That's my dad!" he said, pointing to a dark grey car that just pulled up to the curb. "I'll send an owl about what's happening for next time. See you later." he called over his shoulder as he ran to the car, while the others shouted their goodbyes.

"As I was going to say," said James, "Why don't you come back with us to Godric's Hollow and just go home by floo powder. It would faster. Not to mention saving you a couple sickles."

"Thanks, that'd be great." Looking up, he spotted a dull blue car turning a corner. "That's your dad's car over there, isn't it?" making the others look in the same direction.

"Yep, that's him. And even on time." said James with a hint of surprise in his voice.

-Later-

"I'm home." Remus called out into the small house as he brushed ash off of his bag and stepped out of the fire place. He didn't hear a response, and figured his parents were still out. He walked out of the kitchen and headed upstairs to a small tidy room that looked a bit cramped with a bed, a chair pulled into a desk piled with books, and a low set of drawers covered in various odds and ends. A small lamp sat on the desk with another light dangling from the ceiling.

Walking in he threw the bag onto his bed and sat down at the simple wooden desk, pulling out a blank piece of parchment and a quill.

"Dear Professor Dumbledore," he wrote.

How are you? I hope you are well. I am very sorry to contact you during vacation, but today I experienced something that you may be interested in looking into. I met a young boy who knew my name and the names of my friends, but did not know what Hogwarts was. None of my friends have met him before, so I am not sure how he would recognize us. I am afraid he might be confounded or something similar. He attends St. Mary's orphanage in Surrey and his name is Harry Parker. This may be of no importance, but I thought you should know, just in case. Have a nice summer, and I will see you in September.

Sincerely,

_Remus Lupin_

Remus looked over the note and found it decent. But as he read over it he wondered if he should send it at all. It sounded petty, and more than likely it was nothing. It wasn't big enough to bother Professor Dumbledore, especially when he was probably busy enough working with the Ministry and fighting against Voldemort. He tilted his chair back and looked at the paper, thinking about what would be accomplished if he did send it. The headmaster probably would not be able to do anything about it anyway.

He was considering just tossing it into the trash bin, but then remembered that little boy. Something was funny about him, Remus thought. Maybe he's a wizard without knowing it, which would make sense if he is an orphan. Or maybe he had been confounded or had his mind altered by dark magic.

Before he could doubt himself again, he stood up and walked downstairs and out the back door to the foot of a young oak tree. A speckled brown owl sat on a high branch, just having awoken now that the sun was down. He flew down onto Remus's arm when his name was called- he was one of the very few owls that trusted the lycanthrope. Lupin tied the note to its outstretched leg and said softly, "Please hurry and deliver this. I need you to send some letters to my friends once you get back." It hooted softly and took off. It disappeared from view quickly in the darkness.

-At the orphanage a few days later-

"Get back here Parker! You're going to wish you'd never been born when I get done with you!" a big brown-haired boy shouted at Harry while chasing him wildly around the orphanage, after Harry had kicked a ball into his face during break. Many of the children watched them come charging around a corner or jumping a low hedge, the short scrawny one speeding ahead of the boy who was yelling and tripping a bit more than the little one. Some of the children were laughing as they ran by, but others were too busy dodging them, almost falling to avoid getting hit by the big boy. A few, mostly girls, sighed and pitied Harry, who always found himself in those kinds of situations.

If one hadn't looked so scared and the other so angry and loud, they could have been playing a friendly game of tag. Harry sprinted around a corner and collided into something big and lumpy, knocking the breath out of him as he lay on the ground and heard a deep voice above him yell out, "I got him!" as his arms were pinned to the ground by something heavy. He tried to squirm away as his pursuer and other boys closed in around him, like predators preparing to kill their victim and start eating away at his carcass.

"Hold him still!" the biggest boy said loudly, "Oh, I am going to make you pay for what you did to my face," referring to the slightly squashed look and a little blood trickling down his chin.

Harry couldn't stop himself. "I think it looks better now." He regretted that statement, especially considering this boy was much, much larger and more muscular, and Harry was still laying face up on the dusty ground. The boy's face went from angry to furious, making his face look like a Halloween mask designed to scare small children. With a small roar he swung a punch at Harry's face, but only cracked his knuckles against solid ground when Harry jerked his head to the left, partially jerking his arm from the firm grip.

The big boy straddling Harry yelled in pain as his fist hit hard dirt, just when Harry took the opportunity to knee and kick as hard as he could manage. He hit what he hoped had been the stomach, and heard a loud grunt from overhead as the boy toppled onto him, nearly crushing him with his weight. Harry scrambled out from under him while the others hovered over the boy who lay huddled on the ground, making Harry wonder if he had hit him someplace other than the gut.

Whatever- it gave Harry a chance to escape and he sprinted off again. In moments he heard shouts, making him push himself harder to find a safe haven, as he heard his own panting breath and felt his chest heave and his feet fly beneath him, pounding the hard ground in a crooked rhythm. Ahead of him, against the main building was a tall shed with a gently sloping tin roof, and Harry could only hope that it would hold his weight, as he shot towards it.

"Hey, hey, what's going on here?" Sarah yelled at the boys who were crowding around a small shed next to the central building of the orphanage. "Where's Parker? I need him." The boys all snickered and pointed to the top of the shed over which Harry's black hair and glasses were visible as he peered over the edge.

He was sitting on the roof pondering how he had suddenly gotten up there, (and wondering why he had to ask himself, but it was strange how all of a sudden he was just standing on the roof) and considering how he would get down, when Sarah appeared. She looked up at him, aghast. "How on earth did you get up there?" Harry would have responded if he had known himself.

"Boy, you get down this instant!"

Harry stood up on the roof of the shed and walked to the edge he had originally come from. Leaning over he saw a wheelbarrow to the side with a loose jumble of pots and tools, and below him a few wooden boxes stacked precariously against the shed. Clearly he must have scrambled up those boxes, but they were at least six feet below him, so that really wasn't possible, was it? A few kids were trying to figure out the same dilemma, milling around in little giggling groups who looked from the ground, to the high point of the boxes, to where Harry stood, and back to the boxes.

But Harry apparently had no time to figure how he got up there, but needed to find a way down. After struggling for a few seconds and nearly slipping off, Harry was gripping the edge of the roof tightly, his feet dangling below him; looking down at the boxes still a little ways below him. He counted silently: 3, 2, 1 let go! And he felt his feet hit the box, but it was far from stable ground, as the boxes shifted dangerously beneath him and he threw himself off to hit the ground just a few feet below.

A few kids clapped; some impressed, some grateful for the entertainment. But before Harry could pick himself up from the dirt and regain some sort of dignity, his right arm was quickly grabbed by a strong hand as he was heaved off the ground by Sarah. She hardly looked at him, but merely huffed in impatience and annoyance and with great fast strides marched toward the main building, without a second for Harry to collect himself as he jogged to keep up with her.

Once again, for this was a fairly common occurrence, Harry found his arm in a vice grip as he was dragged along by Sarah. She was going on about something, but Harry was too busy arguing and defending himself, saying that the kicking incident was an accident and he didn't know how he got onto that shed; which were both true. The Head's office was coming into view and Harry had a bad feeling that he would feel a ruler against his hands a few or more times, and then be yelled at some more.

"Are you listening to me?" Sarah whipped around and whispered fiercely, looking him straight in the eyes and holding both arms tightly. Truthfully, no, Harry had not been listening, in the slightest. Somehow she knew this and looked furious and exasperated with him. "There is a visitor to see you. He's a high-up professor and he's interested in you. I hope you realize what this means," she said in a fast breathless whisper as she tried to knock off some of the dust in his clothes and hair, "If you're lucky you might just get adopted. It would be a record, I'm sure. Only a few weeks here and already someone has an interest in you. You cannot afford to mess this up."

Harry stood still as Sarah muttered to him and herself, and she tried to make him look more decent: smoothing out his rumpled hair (and failing), tying up his left shoe that had come begun to come undone, making sure all the buttons on his shirt were right and his collar was even. Harry screwed up his face in utter disgust when she licked her thumb to get rid of a dirt smudge on his cheek as he tried to twist away. Finally she stepped back and seemed satisfied.

"Remember, you must be on your absolute best behavior. Always address him as 'sir,' don't sit unless told to do so, keep your answers short and to the point, don't talk out of turn or speak unless spoken to, don't do anything that he might find offensive, and don't say anything stupid or weird. All right? I guess you're ready then." Sarah motioned him forward so that they stood in front of the door and she opened the door a crack to peek her head through.

Harry's heart and mind were racing. Someone important wanted to see him! Maybe it was someone from his family, someone who recognized him and had come to take him home! Maybe it was someone who knew him, and would tell him what his real name was, and who his parents were, and fill in all of the gaps. Whoever it was, it had to be good. That is, unless it was someone who had heard about his dreams and thought he was disturbed. Harry felt himself sink a centimeter or so, and felt his stomach curl. The other children told him about special places for disturbed children. Was this 'professor' from one of those places, and wanted to take him away for 'special' treatment?

He stood there, nervous and excited, afraid that his quivering legs would buckle out from under him, when Sarah motioned to him with a small wave of her hand to go inside. Taking a deep breath he walked past the door with his bright green eyes watching the floor. Once inside he heard the door gently close behind him, and he finally looked up to see the Head of the orphanage, Sister Beatrice, and sitting across from her was the visitor, the important professor who had an interest in Harry.

When he looked up into the elderly man's face he saw a kind face, almost fatherly, with clear bright blue eyes that smiled at him from behind half-moon spectacles perched on his long nose. But the sight of that kind-looking man scared Harry more than anything he could have imagined.

"Ahhh, ghost!" Harry shrieked loudly. He jumped out of his skin, but his heart leapt even higher, shooting up his throat. It was as if a bucket of ice cold water was poured inside, and he felt his feet slip away from under him so he crashed hard onto the floor of the office. He just kept staring up at this man, this man who had come back from the dead from the depths of his dreams.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment for the room's occupants after Harry's little disruption.

Sister Beatrice looked positively horrified, her glasses slipping down her nose until just perched on the tip, as she stared at Harry with her mouth hanging agape. As her mind slowly absorbed what happened, she was already beginning to plan out other ways to curb this kid's obviously over-active imagination.

Outside the door Sarah would have completely fallen over in shock if the wall hadn't caught her.

The professor was the quickest to recover, and merely sat and smiled a bit more warmly at the boy, and thoughtfully wondered if it was about time for him to have a mid-life crisis.

Harry sat numbly on the ground, coming to the horrible realization that he did, in fact, belong with other disturbed children. He really was abnormal, and his stomach dropped uncomfortably.

Harry's heart was still beating painfully fast and hard against his rib cage, and breathing was no longer an involuntary movement as he struggled to take in any air at all. It was just like that other time, in the park, when Harry recognized those four boys. This man in front of him was from his dreams, but more than that; this man had died in his dreams. He was certainly dead. So how was it that a dead man from Harry's mind was now sitting in the same room as Harry, whose heart was obviously still beating and was smiling at him, as he had done in the dreams?

Harry's mind was a massive jumble of thoughts and feelings that did not fit together at all, so instead of a jigsaw puzzle that all comes together and made sense, he was dealing with a bunch of loose, slippery material that would just as soon come into his mind in wisps and fragments, and then slip away. Everything just collided, slipped apart, and flew about with complete disregard for his other mental projectiles. Harry's head was hurting under the stress, as foreign images of unknown memories appeared before his eyes: a terrible green mark in the sky, a strange room with portraits all over the walls, a deathly train station, a tall tower, a white tomb. Odd words, strange remarks, confusing hints, mysterious explanations, and terrifying orders were heard in his ear, each echoing over the others. Feelings of peace and fury and despair swayed convulsively within him, giving off small impulses to laugh and scream and cry.

Then, in an instant, all of those feelings and thoughts disappeared from Harry's mind, as if sucked out by a wind, leaving a sense of dull absence. With his mind cleared, or rather, empty, Harry understood with a jolt what he had really done, and what the consequences would be. He jumped off the ground just barely managing to keep his balance.

He fumbled for words and kept his eyes focused on the leg of the wooden desk in front of him. A hand flew to his face once he noticed his glasses had come askew, as he kept stuttering out a sincere apology.

"I-I'm really, really sorry! Truly! I'm so sorry. Uh, I didn't mean that. No, I really don't think that…Er, it-it just sort of, well, it's just th-that you look -" Harry stuttered fiercely. Now that those memories were gone, Harry wasn't sure what had made him call out, and accuse this man of being dead. That could not have gone worse, Harry thought. There's no way he would want to adopt me now. And that's a perfect reason to send me away for special treatment. Oh no…

Thankfully he was spared an explanation when the Sister came fully to her senses and interrupted his rambling. "Harry Parker!" she barked, jumping out of her seat, her face furious, "What is the meaning of this?" her eyes shot icy daggers at him, then turned to look at the professor in an attempt to salvage the situation. Her voice became sweet as honey and smiled warmly as she also began to apologize.

"Please excuse the boy. I really don't know what has gotten into him. He is usually much more polite. I am sure it is just his imagination, like I was telling you about." She said as a possible explanation, "But I'm sure it can easily be fixed. Probably nothing" she added hastily.

Yet despite Harry's abrupt rudeness, the professor still smiled softly at him, if not a bit more thoughtful than before, and stood up, one hand holding onto the arm of the wooden straight-backed chair to push himself up.

"Well, you must be Mr. Harry Parker. A pleasure." He said warmly and offered out his hand. At first Harry just stared dumbly at the proffered hand, unsure if he was allowed to touch a dead person from his dreams. He glanced at Sister Beatrice and she glared at him, making small jabbing gestures towards the professor.

"Oh, yes. Nice to meet you." He said quietly as he shook hands, looking up into the familiar face, the twinkling blue eyes.

"I am Professor Dumbledore."

Harry had an involuntary seizure when he heard that, and just caught himself from nearly losing his balance when he took in that little bit of information. Somehow that even sounded familiar. Harry whispered the name softly under his breath, and again searched his mind unsuccessfully for a memory that didn't seem to be there.

Harry had calmed down a little, and now took in more observations about this Dumbledore character. Standing up, he was much taller than Harry had imagined, but then again, everyone looked fairly tall to him. He was certainly old, what with his long silver hair, and Harry noticed that there were small braids in his long beard, which seemed curious, yet fitting. Yet, he was not as old as Harry had imagined him; he seemed more whole and youthful, but even now that happy face was accented with stress and age.

Sister Beatrice was saying something to Professor Dumbledore, and Harry took the time to observe that he was wearing a dark blue suit with small silver stars throughout the silky fabric, which would have made a considerably nice outfit, especially considering the eccentric wearer, if it weren't for the bright red and silver checkered tie tied loosely around his neck and a large floppy black hat wit a large scarlet plume that had sat in his lap.

The professor's incessant smile was beginning to slightly disturb Harry, who resumed his focus on the leg of the desk, and noticed that there were some scuff marks and a chip a few inches above the floor. He noticed his legs were swaying, and he stopped.

"- Then I will leave you two alone to talk for a little bit. Either Sarah or I will be nearby when you are finished." Harry heard the sister say, and heard the door click through his cloud of thoughts, and realized that he really had not been paying attention, and now he was completely alone with this Professor Dumbledore.

Silence greeted the Sister's departure, as Harry stood stiffly before the tall gentleman who proceeded to sit back down and beckoned Harry to sit down in a similar chair beside him, so they could be across from one another when the chairs were turned inward.

Harry sat down silently, cringing slightly when the wooden legs grated against the floor, breaking the silence of the room. It was a relief to sit down but Harry could not relax, and kept his straight back a good distance from the back of the chair, which was the sign of a well disciplined soldier, not that Harry knew or cared. He sat with his clenched hands pressed onto his lap and his feet partly wrapped around the front legs of the chair- his legs not within reach of the floor- and his face was grim and wary. All of Harry's actions were now rather jerky and precise, and he was twitching slightly. Harry looked up into the kind eyes of the professor, and trembled noticeably.

Harry got a very strange sensation when met the light blue eyes that stared unblinkingly at him. He had the vague sensation that the Professor was seeing deeper than just his appearance. Something kept saying 'mind reading' in Harry's thoughts. But he didn't dare ask, then he would really sound crazy. Excuse me sir, did you just read my thoughts? No, that would be stupid.

From what Dumbledore could sense, there was no sense of magic on this boy; nothing to suggest a charm or spell or any dark magic of any sort. He was fairly certain the boy was not an imposter or under the imperious curse; if so he would have acted a bit more normal. Sister Beatrice had been right about his lack of memory; Dumbledore could only see a very small portion of memories with occlumency. There wasn't much in this kid's head. He may have to be wary of that fact; because there is the possibility the boy's memories were being either suppressed or hidden by an outside force.

Professor Dumbledore laughed softly to see this suddenly serious little boy who must be sitting on a bed of nails judging by his movements. "So," he began casually, hoping to have the boy calm down. Harry gulped knowing that he was going to have to explain himself. He might as well just come out and say it.

"W-well sir," Harry began, wondering if he should just lie. No, he might as well tell the truth. "I realize this doesn't make much sense, but the only reason I called you a-a ghost, is because I thought I recognized you from a dream of mine. And in the dream you died, so it just, er, confused me. I did not mean to insult you. I'm sorry," he added again, not looking up.

"Ah, now that's very interesting. Sometimes dreams can tell a great deal about people. What kind of dreams do you have, Mr. Parker." Harry looked uncomfortable, and then raised his head and looked straight into Dumbledore's face. Something told him that he could trust this gentleman.

"I have a lot of strange dreams. They usually, almost always, have the same people in them, and I always feel like I know them, as if they had been my friends. Same places, too. And, well, sometimes I confuse my dreams with reality." Harry hoped that did not sound too strange, and waited but a second for Dumbledore to respond.

"Can you remember what happens in these dreams of yours? Can you describe any of the people?" Dumbledore asked politely, and, to Harry, seemed genuinely interested in the foolish dreams of a young boy. Harry took a slow breath, collecting his words.

"No, actually, I rarely remember anything specific. I think I am usually inside a big stone…castle, I suppose." He screwed up his face in concentration, "I think it might be a school of some sort, but not a normal one. (he decided not to mention magic, that would be pushing too far). But I can never remember who was in my dreams. When I wake up the faces just disappear."

"Yet you recognized me?"

"Well, um," Harry hesitated, unsure of how he could explain without sounding like a liar. "I don't know why, but something just sort of clicked when I saw you. But now," his voice grew a bit quieter, "I don't even know why I thought that, because I don't believe I have ever seen you before." Throughout their discussion, Harry's bright eyes kept jumping from the professor's face to the floor to his hands twitching slightly in his lap. Once in a while he would make a feeble gesticulation with his hands, but then felt foolish and settled them back in his lap.

"Have you ever seen anyone else from your dreams?"

"No-er-yeah, actually I have." Harry said, remembering his past experience, "a few days ago I met some older boys who I thought I recognized; but I had never met them before either. If I could ask a small question, sir." Harry continued after a slight nod of approval, " what do you teach?" Harry had temporarily forgotten that this man could be teaching at a 'special' school.

"I am the headmaster of a finishing school for talented boys and girls." That wasn't particularly helpful, but the word "headmaster" did strike a chord- it sounded very familiar. Dumbledore was looking at him closely when Harry lifted his eyes. Harry noticed that his left hand kept tugging gently at the edge of his shirt, and he stopped himself. "I am here primarily to see if you would fit in with the students. We only take those who fill certain criteria." Dumbledore said with twinkling eyes. Harry was puzzled. Dumbledore continued.

"A person's dreams can reflect his or her imagination and creativity, which will often determine a fair bit about the person." Harry wasn't sure where this was going. Dumbledore was looking outside the window; Harry wasn't sure at what. "Students should be able to look past the normal and everyday, and see things in different ways. Tell me, do you believe in magic?"

Harry groaned inwardly, unsure of whether this was turning for the worse or the better. He gulped, and let the worn-out toes of his shoes kick against the chair legs absently. A very quiet "yes" was his only answer.

"Could you explain? What is it you believe?"

"I think there is magic in my dreams. Wait- what I mean is that I see magic in my dreams, like spells and charms. I know it is just in my mind, but I really believe that there is actual magic in the world." Dumbledore appeared content to hear this.

Harry sat taller when the professor, turning his face from the window, pulled out a thin stick from a pocket in his suit. There was a moment of silence in the room, as the professor observed Harry keenly, while Harry stared dumbly at the stick. It was a wand, Harry was almost certain of it. But that hardly made sense, at least in the real world. Maybe it was just a stick, a joke to see how much he believed in magic.

Dumbledore held it loosely in his right hand and stretched out his arm towards Harry, offering the thin twig. "Sometimes the imagination is stronger than we first think." Harry realized that he wanted him to take it. "Do you really believe in magic?" Dumbledore asked mysteriously, still holding out the light-colored stick. It looked like ash, and it looked worn. Harry's hand hovered over it warily for a second or two; his head turned slightly away but still watching it, and gingerly touched and grabbed it, holding it as if it might explode in his hand. Nothing happened.

Harry relaxed and was confused to see Dumbledore no longer smiling as he had, but instead kept his gaze focused on the stick, watching it intensely. His elbows rested on the armrests of the chair, and his long spindly fingers were crisscrossed. Harry had to look away, back to the wand, er, stick in his trembling hand.

Harry understood that he was expected to do something with it, and struggled to take another big gulp before he attempted anything. Standing up and stepping away from his chair so he had space, he held the stick out in front of him, concentrating hard on what he was to do. He was about to ask if Dumbledore had ever killed anyone with it, but thought better of it and bit his tongue.

Harry swished the 'wand' toward the closed window (he could see a glare off the glass from the sun and some smudges on the bottom) behind the sister's desk, wishing and hoping with all his being that it would work, that he would perform magic- prove to himself that it wasn't just a dream. Both men stared at the window, Harry was breathing hard and he could almost feel the blood pumping through his veins into his hand, holding tightly the wand still raised high and aimed towards the window. Nothing happened. Harry's heart sank, and he lowered the wand slowly. It was stupid really, thought Harry dismally, of course it's not a wand. He felt embarrassed to have believed it; believed that magic might actually exist. He had hoped and wished that it was, and now disappointment pulled at his heart.

To Harry's immense shock, Dumbledore stood up very quickly, so Harry was taken aback for a second, and walked very fast to the window, concentrating hard on it. Harry looked at him curiously, then his eyes flew back to the window, and he felt much stupider than he had a second ago. The glass had vanished! Something had happened!

Dumbledore put his hand right where the glass was supposed to be, where it had been less than a minute before. He looked around, beaming, to where Harry stood with his mouth now hanging agape, trying to figure out what just happened.

"That's a wand." Harry said breathlessly, "you're a wizard." He looked up to Dumbledore, puzzled, then back down at the wand in his hand. His mind felt fuzzy; a slow second passed between them. "What!?" he exclaimed loudly. He felt he had just been told that a + b = lemon. It didn't make any sense. What did it all mean? What about his dreams? The school? The four boys? What did it mean for him? His mind reeled, and he slumped back down onto the hard chair, holding the wand up before his eyes.

"Yes." Dumbledore replied smoothly to Harry's statements, and then looked happily at Harry, who was still completely thunderstruck. He smiled broadly and met Harry's lifted emerald eyes, "But not just that. You as well. You're a wizard."

Harry heard him, and those words echoed around his mind. (Strange, Harry thought; because another, different voice in his mind echoed back those same words). That wasn't possible, hethought. But he knew it wasn't entirely unexpected. And he really did believe in magic, so how strange was it really? In every dream he could remember, was he not always a wand-wielding wizard. Were his dreams true?

Dumbledore sat back down in his chair almost laughing at Harry's reaction. "You said earlier that there is magic in your dreams. It is possible that you have, in fact, been dreaming of the wizarding school, Hogwarts, of which I am currently headmaster. Ah, that seems to have a rung a bell." he said in response to the astounded look on Harry's face at the sound of that name.

"Now," Dumbledore said, leaning back and putting his hands together, "I have been told that you recently lost your memory. Is that true?"

"Yes," Harry responded, looking down.

"You cannot recall any memories of parents or your past?" Dumbledore asked politely.

"No."

"Then is 'Parker' your true surname? Or is it a name given by those running this orphanage? I am sorry for the personal questions, but they could be very important," Dumbledore added, "I would like to see if you might have relatives in the wizarding community."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "No one gave me this name. I know for sure that my first name is Harry, I'm certain of it. But," he hesitated, "I don't know if Parker is my real name. I chose it because I think it is similar to my real name. It accept it as my real name; it's close enough, for now anyway." Dumbledore was considering this new information. It would make it much more difficult to search for this boy without his proper identity.

"Do you know how old you are?" Dumbledore asked hopefully.

"Er," was his only reply. Everyone said he was about nine or ten, but he thought he was older than that. No one was sure.

"Well, that can be solved easily enough. May I?" Harry realized that the professor was holding out his hand expectantly. Harry let out a soft 'oh!' when he realized he was still holding the wand and instantly put it back into his hands, blushing slightly. "Don't worry. This is just a little spell to measure the age of your mind. It's often fairly accurate. It won't hurt, I promise." He said reassuringly as he gave a short flick over Harry's head.

Harry watched the professor's face as he felt the slightest wispy feeling course through his body. Dumbledore frowned slightly. "That's curious. The spell doesn't seem to work properly with you, Mr. Parker. It appears that you are either, hmm, eleven or seventeen, how odd. But don't worry," he said quickly, "Likely it is due to your lack of memory. Here, let me try again. Different spell…" Harry waited.

"Well, that didn't seem to work either." Dumbledore said. Harry's blood temperature dropped a few degrees. He felt increasingly like he was broken; out-of-order and useless. What if he was too abnormal even for a wizarding school? His hands were gripping the edge of the chair painfully.

"Ah, how perfect!" announced Dumbledore triumphantly after the third attempt. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "You are eleven years old, Harry, and just barely, according to this charm. This is the age that a wizard begins his training. If you would be interested, I will see that you are accepted into Hogwarts for your proper education."

Harry leapt out of his seat, knocking it backwards to the floor. "Really!" he exclaimed, "I can really go to Hogwarts!" It was too good to be true. He would leave this orphanage and, quite literally, go to his dream world. His heart was beating faster than ever.

"Normally July 31st is the final day for the acceptance letter," Dumbledore went on to say, and Harry felt funny hearing that date. The day he first woke up without a memory to call upon. "But seeing as how you were only just informed, and this is an extraordinary case, we can allow an exception."

Harry's mind was still racing and now he was shaking from excitement; a nice change from quaking in fear. He only came out of his thoughts when Dumbledore stood up, looking at a silver pocket watch he had pulled from a coat pocket.

"Time for me to depart. Ah, so many things must be done these days. I'll return in a few days to inform you of your acceptance. Until then, it is very important that you do not reveal any of this to anyone else. You must not say anything about magic or wizards or anything of the like. If anyone asks, you may say that you are hoping to attend a boarding school. Nothing more. Do you understand?" Harry nodded his head solemnly. "Good." Harry followed Dumbledore out the door, now holding his black hat with the feather in his left hand and turning the door knob with the other.

Sarah had been standing across the door in the hallway, wondering if she should just knock and see if they were done talking, when the eccentric Professor stepped out and smiled warmly. She jumped to attention. "Are you finished? Would you like for me to get Sister Beatrice?" she asked politely.

Professor Dumbledore put up his hand and shook his head, "No that will not be necessary. I must be going now. I will return in a few days to see Mr. Parker again. If all goes well he will be accepted into my school. Until then…" he gave a slight bow to Sarah. Then he turned around and looked at Harry, "Good bye Harry." He walked off and out of the main building, the two children watching him go; one perplexed, the other in awe.

Something amazing had just happened to Harry.

* * *

Thank you for telling me that it was James's parents, not grandparents. That has already been fixed.

Thanks again for reading my story. It means a lot to me to know others can see my ideas. This chapter took longer than I expected. After this I plan to have shorter chapters so I can upload them sooner.


	4. Questions and Concerns

Chapter 4: Questions and Concerns

Dumbledore had just one more stop to make before he could finally return home. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was not very far from the latest meeting he had to attend. From the central hallway of the floor Dumbledore looked in on a young man hunched over a desk in the corner. Upon seeing Dumbledore the young man- still very much a boy- jumped out of his seat, emanating enthusiasm as he greeted the professor, wildly shaking his hand.

"Professor Dumbledore, you're already here! Don't worry, I already did all of the research you asked for." The excited boy flew away from Dumbledore and the handshake, and began digging through the top-most papers as he continued on. "I stayed here for as long as I could these past nights to dig up any information on the kid. Not too hard, but not quite easy. Then yesterday- or, rather, today- at one' o clock in the morning they shooed me out. Nearly lost my papers when they hurried me along. But I got them back all right, and they're here somewhere..."

"I am sorry to have caused you some difficulties, but did you find-"

"Oh no, not a problem, sir." He replied over his shoulder, seemingly unaware of having cut across Dumbledore's question. He had kept the childish habit of thinking and talking too fast, and his mind was sprinting in his excitement. "This was the first real job I've had, you know? No one here trusts me with this or that, I just copy and check papers all day long and organize the place. Well, I mean, it's a mess right now, but I plan to clean it up soon. Anyway, I'm actually doing better than the other new graduates. Funny, huh? At least I'm in an office with something to do. No, no, it was a real pleasure doing work for you." He was now shifting through drawers, opening and closing them accompanied by several small 'bangs.'

His only pause in his tirade was when he found a thick tan folder, crying "Aha! Found it!" before continuing on. "I did just what you said- checked for that boy everywhere. Of course the registry and Hogwarts records, not to mention the Great Britain wizard and muggle records of lost persons. I even looked at the lists of Ireland, France, and the United States. Boy it took a bit of work, 'cause I didn't have all that much to go off of, you know? But I tried, sure enough."

Dumbledore was leafing through the many pages, catching glimpses of the initial description of Harry-_name(?), age, appearance, last location,_- and copied pages from Hogwarts's registry, the directories of Missing Persons from the Ministry of Magic, from the United Kingdom muggle records, Ireland, Scotland, the Wizard Republic of North America, and notes of various other counties and cities in the UK. Here and there names were circled with scribbled notes beside each name. But this wasn't telling Dumbledore what he needed to know.

"So who is Harry Parker?"

"A mystery." He replied with a lift of his shoulders. "I told you I looked everywhere I could, but there is no one who fits his description. Some were close, but the age or appearance was wrong, or the person was already found- or the body was in some cases." He trailed off and coughed.

Dumbledore read a few of the notes and searched the young faces smiling up at him- all lost children. "So, you don't know who Harry Parker really is?"

"I don't. It's like he just appeared on the face of the earth. You may want to get a real investigator to check into it. There are probably loads of places I haven't checked." He shrugged, "Your call."

-The next day-

The staff and faculty of Hogwarts were almost done preparing for the upcoming school year- planning classes, discussing security procedures, and reviewing the rules. It was past nightfall already- the gold and red colors of dusk had already disappeared from the low window overlooking the circular table covered in papers and a small model of the castle. It was a grand contrast to Hogwarts, but the little cabin that Professor Sprout rented was comfortable, spacious and drowsiness lingered in the atmosphere.

"If no one else has any questions, then I believe this meeting is over." Dumbledore said, grateful for its conclusion. "I'll see all of you in a few short weeks." Several staff members got up and immediately walked outside to disappear, apparating without a word or second thought. Sprout continued an animated conversation with Kettleburn about a recent magazine article about proper thestral health. Filch stalked to the fireplace and left, followed by the Muggle Studies professor going home to his family.

"Oh, before you go, Minerva, could you stay for just a moment," Dumbledore said looking up at the professor, sitting directly to his right. "We will be accepting one more student this year- a boy named Harry Parker. I would appreciate it if you could prepare another first year packet for him."

McGonagall was thoughtful for a moment as she organized her papers. "I don't recall seeing his name on any list."

"That's correct. I recently found him in a muggle orphanage. He's lost his memory as well as his name. Harry Parker is what he is using at the moment. However he certainly has magic in him."

"Excuse me." Said Professor Slughorn, receiving an angry glare from McGonagall and a tired glance from Dumbledore, "I couldn't help but overhear…"

"I'm sure you couldn't," muttered McGonagall.

"But did you just say that Hogwarts is accepting another one from a muggle orphanage." He said, staring at Dumbledore. "I don't think that would be so wise, considering what happened with the last one."

"I do not believe that we should consider all orphans to be in the same league as 'the last one,' as you call him." Dumbledore replied smoothly, hoping to relieve any unnecessary suspicions.

"But you said he lost his memory. How do you know he isn't being possessed, or had his mind addled by dark magic? He could be You-Know-Who's spy!" He hissed quietly, as if afraid someone might hear. Someone did.

"Headmaster, is this true," came a woman's voice, causing all three to look up at the speaker, the latest Defense against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Ernotte. "Did I just hear we might be teaching a spy of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" She was peering at her three colleagues from behind rectangular glasses, frowning. "Surely we would not do such a thing." She said calmly, ignoring Slughorn's attempt to interject.

Even Sprout and Kettleburn had stopped talking to listen in. Dumbledore sighed. "I see no reason to worry. The student in question is from a muggle orphanage, nothing more. Horace here is only concerned because the boy has unknown origins. I admit he may be confounded but that's no cause for alarm."

"Unknown origins- then he truly may be a spy!" Ernotte exclaimed. "This boy may jeopardize the entire school!"

"Those foul Death Eaters are always trying to get a spy at Hogwarts," Said Kettleburn, "what better than an innocent child! Surely you must have considered this."

"And confounded, too!" Slughorn cried. "He may be a spy and not even know it. Veritaserum and legilimency- useless, if the boy can't even remember anything to begin with! He may even be unstable- unable to control his magic like normal wiz-"

"That is enough." Dumbledore said firmly. "There is no evidence that he is a spy, and I shall not call him one for having unfortunate origins. I will personally be keeping a close eye on him but there's no reason to all this."

Sprout spoke up, "Still, we ought to tell the rest of the staff. They have a right to know."

"Absolutely!" Slughorn agreed. "We should all keep an eye out for any odd behavior from this- oh, what's his name- Parker boy."

This was not what Dumbledore had anticipated. "I cannot stop you from telling the rest of the staff. However, I do not want anyone to take any action against the boy. Most likely he is just a confused child, trying to adapt to our world. To be so suspicious of him would be a poor welcome into the wizard community. And," he looked over his spectacles at the professors, "even if he proves to be a spy, which is unlikely, I insist that he be treated as every other child: to do otherwise could prove more dangerous. The rest of the staff may tell me of any concerns, but no more than that. Is that understood?"

Nods and murmured agreement. They left in pairs, leaving Dumbledore and McGonagall the only ones left around the table, now cleared, revealing polished white wood.

"Well then, shall I prepare his papers?" McGonagall asked.

"Thank you. I also need a home for him until the term starts."

McGonagall froze in her chair, and turned slowly to face Dumbledore. "I'm… afraid I don't have the space or time to care for a child…" Dumbledore chuckled, surprising her.

"No, no, that won't be necessary. Although I dare say you would make a good mother." He said, still chuckling.

"Albus!" McGonagall said, as the headmaster continued to smile.

"I'm sorry. You misunderstood me. I need to find a Hogwarts family that would be willing to house him until school starts. You are more knowledgeable than I in regards to the students and their families. Preferably one that is familiar with both worlds."

"Perhaps the Blake family… they have a son, a Ravenclaw named Henry, entering his third year and if I remember correctly they will have a daughter entering Hogwarts this falls."

""The Blakes… yes, I believe Mr. Parker would do well to stay with them. Mr. Blake is a Healer at St. Mungos, if I remember correctly. And Mrs. Blake?"

"A muggle Healer- a nurse, I believe. I have met both of them- both very nice- and their son has always done well- bright, not much mischief or detentions, and should be able to help Parker get accustomed. I know of no reason why they should not be able to host this student for a few weeks before the term starts." McGonagall watched as Dumbledore slightly nodded his head, agreeing with the consideration.

"Shall I contact the family?"

"Thank you, Minerva. If they accept, you must arrange to get together in a few days to actually pick up the boy from his orphanage. I don't believe I will have time to go myself. Oh, and I will have to gather his allowance…"

"I can handle that, professor. Just tell me how much and the address of the orphanage. I'm sure the Blake family would be happy to take him in. As long as we are sure he won't be any sort of threat."

"If he is a spy he has done a rather poor start." Dumbledore said, recalling how the strange little boy had called him a ghost. "I plan to keep my eye on him, though, just in case."

* * *

I understand this chapter is short and uneventful, but I needed to convey some information, and this is what I have so this is what I am giving you. Chapter five will be more interesting. Again, please know that chapter one has been rewritten and this story now takes place after _Deathly Hallows._ Also, very sorry for the long delay. Thanks for sticking with me!

Thank you for the wonderful reviews! Really, every time I see one I'm inspired to keep writing. There have been some great suggestions, most which have already been planned (very good guessing, haha) but there was at least one that gave me a good idea for a subplot. You'll see.


	5. An Old House

Chapter 5: An Old House

Laughter echoed up the empty, dark staircase while the decapitated heads along the wall stood sentinel, eyes closed and long ears drooping. The dark-wood door stood ajar, letting the firelight and lamps cast a thin glow into the dark hallway. A silver clock chimed. As laughter fell away, the thumps and chinks of glasses were heard from where the Black family reunion came to an end, everyone looking cheerful or content, except for one young exception; a young man who would have preferred a million other places than in this miserable place with this crowd, the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black.

Another boy, younger, scrawnier, stood up beaming while the rest of the table settled. "I have an announcement to make," he said, "I'm going to become a Death Eater." A great pause, and a great cheer went up and several chairs were pushed aside, knocked over as his uncles, aunts and grandparents stood to congratulate him. Mrs. Black scurried from her chair, clasping her son to her small body, crying then yelling for the house elf. As dusty old bottles of liquor were brought in Regulus sat back down, reveling in the attention amidst an onslaught of congratulations and jarring pats on the back. Only one person did not celebrate: in fact, he had not moved yet, but looked around dumbfounded, mouth agape.

"Well I can't be one just yet," Regulus explained, "some other Slytherins will prepare me over the next year until I can be fully initiated."

"Enough!" Sirius yelled, jumping up as his dark-wood chair skidded back. Everyone fell silent as the joyous faces turned to face the elder brother, whose handsome face was suddenly darkened, almost fitting his name, _Black_. "Unbelievable," he whispered, though loud in the silence, "He wants to be a Death Eater and you… you're all _happy_ for it? Do any of you even realize what he will become?"

"He will be the pride of the Black family! Unlike you!" Mrs. Black said. Her face was that of a ghoul- pale and distorted- as she pointed a sharp finger accusingly at Sirius. "You ungrateful little wretch! What have you ever done? And look at Regulus. Your brother shall uphold this family's honor, working for the good of all true wizards. All your life you have dragged the family's name through the mud, you and that other filthy blood traitor Potter and your mudblood friends-"

"Don't use that word!" Sirius shouted.

Hardly seeing his father stand or raise his wand, Sirius was thrown backwards tumbling over his chair before crashing into the wall, making the cabinets rattle. Through his erupting headache and rage Sirius heard his father say "How dare you raise your voice to your mother!"

He kept one hand on the wall behind him; he stared at his father, though in the corner of his eye he saw others standing and pulling out wands. His own wand was in his bedroom. "Must you ruin everything," his father said. "This is an extraordinary occasion for your brother, and this is how you congratulate him- this jealous display?"

Sirius's head was pounding and viciously throbbing - all the fury he felt towards his family was bubbling to the surface and he suddenly did not care about what would happen to him if he fought back and said everything he had ever held back in his throat. Something clicked in his mind- or perhaps snapped- as all those fiery emotions cooled into a calm. Sirius saw what he should have done years before.

Feigning ignorance of the many witches and wizards pointing wands at him, he turned to Regulus, looked him in the eyes- as dark as his own- and said softly, "You want to be a Death Eater? Fine. Go ahead. But I won't be brother to a damned Death Eater, and I won't be in a family like this. I've had enough of this family, of this insane pure-blood hysteria." He gulped visibly, his heart beating uncomfortably, afraid of what will happen, but there was no other option in his mind. "I've had enough. I'm leaving."

In the moment of quiet shock in which, to Sirius, the world slowed all around him- his own movements delayed- Sirius reached behind him for the threshold of the door and fled. The silence lasted only a second, He hated to think of it as cowardly, but what could he do without a wand against a dozen or so armed witches and wizards. Pivoting around the staircase, he leapt up the narrow steps fast as he could, for the noise in the room was swelling and pouring out towards the hall below him; the light and breath of a spell whispered past his head.

Just feet from his bedroom he was hit with a leg-lock spell, his sprinting legs snapped together painfully, his knees cracking, but his speed propelled him headfirst through the door. Rolling over, he propped himself up, panic eating his insides as figures bounded after him in the dark amongst the angry yells and curses coming from the hallway and stairs. With an effort only desperation can bring, he pulled his useless legs in and slammed and locked the door. He kept one hand on the brass handle as he lay on the floor, only then noticing how much he was shaking. He could hear them, and for a terrible moment he thought his special lock would not hold, but he heard cries of _alohamora_ without success, and could breathe.

Pulling himself across the floor on his elbows to the wand on his desk, he finally muttered the counter curse, relieving his legs. But what could he possibly do now? The possibility of his family breaking through still worried him as he grabbed clothes, school supplies, and miscellaneous items from every surface of his room. What should he do? He was afraid to step outside his room, so that only left one exit, if it could be called an exit. Once his trunk was tightly packed with everything he could not bear to leave behind, he looked at his hopeful exit- the window. It was old, like the rest of the house, and did not open; and like the rest of the house, it was cursed with various ancient spells and protections to keep out intruders- and impure blood. Even if he _could_ blast it out- which he doubted- would he be able to escape the boundaries of the house. Did these protections keep in as well as keep out?

There was nothing left for him to do but try. The glass shattered easily. His trunk beside him, he stuck his head out the window, gingerly avoiding the jutting glass, and looked below. He only saw darkness, like infinity. He had never wanted a broom as badly as this moment, while Regulus's broom was tantalizing close yet out of reach. However… he looked left, knowing Regulus's bedroom window was just there.

"Accio broom!" he cried, and to his amazement he heard that window shatter as a broom soared into his outstretched hand. Then, to his horror, he heard shouts from the hall: his quiet escape was ruined. Not wasting a moment he cast a hover charm over his trunk, squeezed out the window, glass shards gripping his sleeves and clothes. With his trunk hovering behind him in the cold night breeze, he shot off, flying low toward the street.

Shouts followed him, along with more missed spells aiming for a dark shape over a dark street, until a woman's shrill voice- his mother- screamed "accio broom!" The broomstick lurched to a stop and spun about, so Sirius dangled from the end, his trunk falling to the ground. The broom began to speed back to the house so he jumped, rolling onto the pavement and street, his hands, head and body receiving numerous scratches and soon-to-be bruises. Even then the spells did not slow. Casting a shield charm behind him, Sirius stumbled to his feet and grabbed his trunk. His wand lit, he raised his right hand. The familiar Knight Bus approached just as the front door of the house opened behind him.

A young conductor was stepping down to deliver the customary speech, yawning as she went, but was rudely pushed aside by Sirius and his large trashed trunk. The balding man at the wheel stared at the man bounding up the steps.

"Excuse me- " she started indignantly.

"Hurry up! Come on! We gotta get out of here!" Sirius shouted, startling other passengers. The woman looked out at the swarm of loud angry people running toward the bright bus. "Now!"

"Ernie, step on it!" she said. With a jerk the bus roared into motion and was soon far away from that old house. Sirius collapsed onto the nearest bed, breathing hard, head bowed. He did it. He had escaped. He was free.

He heard a soft voice above him- the girl from before. "You all right, kid?"

"Kid?" he asked, looking up. "You can't be much older than me."

"Are you okay?" she asked again.

"Fine." He probably looked a mess. His body ached, he could feel scratches all along his back, and there were miniature fires blazing on his skin where he had scraped the asphalt. He looked at his arms and hands, counting all the places where skin was ripped, burned, or bleeding.

"Where's the young gentleman going, now?" Ernie called over his shoulder. "Take your time if you need to. Just call out when you know." Sirius put his head in his shaking hand- where was he going? Quickly he pulled his hand back and saw smeared blood. From his pocket he pulled out a small oval mirror and saw a horizontal cut on his cheekbone from the window-glass, but it wasn't bleeding much. He wiped it with his sleeve.

"I would like to be dropped off at Godric's Hollow." Sirius said. "And I haven't bought my ticket yet."

"All right, we can get you there in about forty minutes." She said, stifling a yawn. "A ticket is a sickle, two knuts. So I guess you figured out where you're going. Somewhere good, I hope."

Sirius took a deep breath of fresh air while the Knight Bus jumped off down the street, gone in a blink. His heart had stopped racing, although he could still feel his hands shake. The bus had been warm, bright, and relatively safe. Now he was out in the open again and the feeling of vulnerability and impending crisis was returning. Yet, at the same time, he was comforted by the sight of the old two-story house in front of him, like he was almost home from a long journey.

Slightly warm from being held so long, the two-way mirror reflected the golden street lamp behind him, "Prongs." Sirius said clearly, watching the glass. "James!" No response. "Dammit, Prongs, wake up!" After a few more minutes yelling to the mirror, he gave up. It was far too late to go ring the doorbell, especially with Death Eaters seemingly around every corner. In fact he could very well become a target now. Keeping his wand out and ready, he walked under a tall spindly magnolia tree, near where James's window was. Lighting his wand, he saw the glare of light against the window. Running his hand over the ground, he found a few small rocks and began chucking them at the window. After a few minutes of doing this with as little response as his first attempt, he moved onto a third attempt because he was not going to spend the night outside.

Placing his lit wand between his teeth, he climbed the tree, something he had done many times with James when they were younger. Sliding out on a branch, he got to within a few feet from the window. "James…" he said softly, the last thing he wanted to do was cause a commotion. "Prongs?" he said a bit louder. He shuffled further towards the window, "James! Wake up!" There was a low groan underfoot, then the branch gave way and snapped like a gunshot. Sirius found himself lying painfully over the heavy tree branch; with a groan he rolled onto the cold grass, rubbing his lower back.

"Dammit, this is terrible…"

He heard footsteps and saw an approaching light, but was too dazed from the fall to think straight.

"Don't move! You have three wands on you, and we're not afraid to attack." James said. "Who are you?" Sirius's wand flew towards the tallest of the three dimly-lit figures.

"Hold on, hold on!" Sirius called out, putting up his hands. "Prongs, it's me, Padfoot."

"Sirius?" James asked, lowering his wand and stepping towards Sirius. "What are you doing here?"

"You have no idea how terrible this night's been for me."

"James!" his father shouted, his wand still pointed towards Sirius. James stopped just short of Sirius and turned his head. "How many times have I told you- always double-check. Make sure your friends are really your friends. Go on, ask him a question."

James thought for a moment, asked, "What am I allergic to?"

"Pumpkin juice."

"But dear," his mother said. "You don't have any allergies."

"No mum, it's a joke. This is Sirius, all right." James said as he pulled him up from the ground. "But really Padfoot, what on earth are you doing here?" James asked.

Sirius looked into his eyes, solemn. "I ran away from home."

"What?"

Now all four people were bathed in the white glow from the wands. James looked shocked, his mom looked worried. "Did something happen at home?" She asked, noticing the cuts on his face.

"Well this is hardly the place to discuss this." His father said, "Let's go inside and we can talk about everything in the morning, eh? James, help him with his things." But James was already pulling the worn trunk, balancing it on its one good wheel through the grass as they headed towards the back door.

"Now Sirius, don't you worry about anything." James's mother said once they were all standing in the kitchen. "For now just get some sleep and we can talk things over in the morning. You know where the sleeping stuff is, right? Or would you like me to get it for you? Or you can just sleep with James in his bed, like you used to when you were little."

"Mum!" James said. "He's not sharing my bed- that was years and years ago. We'll manage fine. Not like this is the first time you've spent the night here, eh mate?"

His room was quite large and rather messy. The enchanted star-studded ceiling slanted slightly, the bed sitting against the highest wall, and beside the large window stood a tall cage holding a large ruffled hawk owl. Papers coated the wooden floor and desk, a large pile of clothes sat in a corner, his open trunk was full of miscellaneous items and even more papers, books and clothes. Getting on his knees, James spread his arms and scooped away various things from beside his bed until a clear patch of floor showed through. With a complicated little flourish of his wand, James made a large futon appear, fully set with flowery pink sheets. He looked at Sirius from the corner of his eye, smiling. Sirius wasn't. Sirius just looked annoyed- annoyed and exhausted.

"Right, right- I guess this isn't the time." James said and flicked his wand and the sheets changed to a dark blue. He realized he had made a mistake- now wasn't the time for jokes, though this was Sirius standing beside him. He was nervous, maybe he was still tense from believing his family was being attacked or spied on, or maybe Sirius's uneasy attitude was contagious. "You probably just want to go to sleep now, huh?" James said, throwing a pillow onto the futon. There was a loud sigh behind him.

"Sorry mate, just…" Sirius ran his hand over his face, "it's been a long night- a really long night. I'll snap back by morning." He rolled onto his temporary bed; James into his, turning the knob of his lamp until the white glow faded into blackness and strained silence. James felt so awake, both anxious and excited, he thought sleep would be hard to come by but when he opened his eyes again daylight replaced darkness.

His mind and vision were fuzzy when he awoke. He rolled onto his stomach, pulled his arm out from beneath his chest and let it drape over the side onto a warm soft thing. He jerked awake until he remembered that Sirius lay on the bed beside him. Taking and unfolding his glasses, he slipped them on and the vague black-topped oval he was looking at became Sirius's face. He was awake, and looked as though he had been so for some time. James fell back onto his bed.

"You're a mess, you know that?" James said, tapping his own cheek, prompting Sirius to touch his own. He winced and looked at himself in the small mirror James handed him. The cut was still there and looked deeper than he had thought, now slightly puffy around the edge. But more noticeable by far was a large green and yellow bruise on his cheek-bone, just below his left eye.

"What happened?" James asked, sitting up. "Did they do that? Your family?"

"In a way." Sirius said as he got onto James's bed and put his back to the wall, beside James. "It all feels like a dream. Or a nightmare."

"So what happened? I mean, why? Why now, why all of a sudden?" James asked. For a long moment Sirius didn't reply, just gazed at the caged owl and touched his bruised cheek.

"Regulus is going to become a Death Eater."

"Are you serious? I mean, yeah, your family and all- but your brother? Little Reggie?"

"I know I shouldn't be surprised." Sirius said, running a hand through his hair. "Still, we grew up together, I taught him his first charm, helped when he first fancied a girl. It was worse was when he told the family- they all… celebrated. Like they were proud of it."

"He's too young. He's only, what? Fourteen? Fifteen? You-Know-Who is no babysitter."

"He said he's going to train for a year or so. Train to be a murderer." James didn't know what to say or what to do. He had no words of comfort that wouldn't be meaningless or a lie. "And think, if we become Aurors like we always say, what then?" James had been watching Sirius's profile, but now was faced looking into his dark-blue eyes. What would they do if they ever had to face Regulus in battle- would they have to kill him? Could they?

A sharp rap on the window caught their attention and distracted both from the uncomfortable thought of fighting and killing. "Is it from Remus?" Sirius asked as James opened the window and pulled in an owl. The previous topic fell to the side. It would resurface at breakfast, but for now they fell back into more comfortable talk.

"His owl, his writing- sure is." James said, untying the letter while Sirius got some food to feed it as it transferred onto his arm. "What do you bet he's backing out?"

James began reading the letter, murmuring half. "'I've been rethinking about what we talked about, too dangerous blah blah, packs of werewolves… going to get ourselves killed or eaten, terrible risks, doo, doo, doo, don't come, we'll see each other at Diagon, yeah, yeah, already told Peter. Tell Sirius. Well, I did that." He waved the paper with mock surprise on his face. "He is so predictable."

"So what do we do, then?" Sirius asked after reading it. "Suppose it will be a bit dangerous- running around with a bunch of werewolves during the full moon."

"Oh, not you too! Not like we haven't done anything dangerous before and we've never gotten too badly hurt with Moony. Besides, it's boring around here."

"All right then," Sirius said just as they were called to breakfast. "Wasn't expecting anything less from you. Suppose it should be fun going somewhere other than the Forbidden Forest."

* * *

A/N:(edit) So, next chapter is back to Harry! This is actually the longest non-Harry chapter that I plan to write, which will actually be few and far between. This scene gets its own chapter because its an important canonical event and will have repercussions in later chapters in my story. Thanks for your opinions on the matter!

Thanks for the reviews- every one I get encourages me to write more! (and Minue, your comment made me giggle aloud)

I'd love to get the next chapter out before school starts again, since I rarely get to writing anything once classes start, but this summer's been bad. On most days I can get on a computer about twenty to forty minutes, but only a few days a week since my dad's laptop broke. Well, I'll try!


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